


Best of Seven

by harleymae



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-25
Updated: 2003-02-18
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleymae/pseuds/harleymae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Marleau and Marco Sturm begin an ill-conceived competition with each other.</p><p>(Originally posted to the Hockey Dreams Yahoo! mailing list)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm fucking bored!" Marco yelled, then threw his pillow at me, knocking my book out of my hands.  
  
And that was how it all started - the somewhat sorry, often eye-opening and most definitely entertaining period of time I self-centredly call the last three months of my life. Marco and I had no idea what we'd set in motion that night, and it's a damn good thing we didn't, because we never would have done it otherwise. And that would have meant ... well, I really shouldn't spoil the story.  
  
"Fuck you, Marco." I grumbled, groping around on the floor blindly for my book since I was too lazy to sit up and look for it. "You made me lose my page."  
  
"Fuck reading!" he said, petulantly. "I'm bored! Entertain me."  
  
"Take some NyQuil and go to sleep." I sighed. "If you're going to be this annoying the rest of the season I'm asking for a new roommate."  
  
"That's just it! The season just started and I'm bored already." Marco stood up and started pacing. I hate it when he paces. He knows I hate it when he paces. Asshole. "We've got to come up with something to make things more exciting. I want something to look forward to when we go on road trips."  
  
"Call me boring, but I think playing hockey at the professional level in front of thousands of people is fairly exciting." I located my book and proceeded to search for the page I was on.  
  
"You are boring, Patty!" he declared, walking over to me and snatching the book out of my hands, closing it, and thus making me lose my page again.  
  
"Well, what the hell do you want to do?" I was starting to lose my patience with him. "Fuck?"  
  
At this point, I should state that this wasn't entirely a joke, given that we'd slept together several times in the past. More often than not, both of us were obnoxiously drunk at the time. More accurately, he would be obnoxiously drunk, and I would be stupidly drunk. That's an important distinction, or at least, I like to think it is. Sober sex happened when we were both horny and unattached. We haven't really been single much the past few years, hence the infrequency.  
  
That night, neither of us were seeing anyone, so it was a good suggestion on my part. And if we'd followed it, we'd have fucked, gone to sleep, played Vancouver the next morning, and gone on with our lives as usual.  
  
Of course, Marco had to come up with an even better suggestion.  
  
"We could do that." Marco answered, tossing my book into a corner of the room and collapsing onto me. I vaguely remember thinking at the time that having the wind knocked out of you isn't much of a turn on. "But I'm thinking long-term. Something that will keep our interest all season."  
  
"Because fucking me gets old after a while?" I frowned at him, feeling incredibly insulted.  
  
"Okay, how about this ..." he started, completely ignoring my complaint. He kissed me quickly and continued talking. "We're going to have a little competition."  
  
Hearing Marco say the word "competition" set the alarm bells ringing madly in my head. Yes, we're all competitive, us hockey players - that's how we got where we are. But Marco is in a class of his own. Once he almost got into a fight with Scott Thornton over a game of "Go Fish". Three of us had to restrain him.  
  
"Competition?" I asked, trying very hard to keep my voice from trembling.  
  
"Yes! It'll be fun! There's no way it can be anything but fun!" he said excitedly, kissing me again. A maniacal gleam started to shine in his eyes as he furnished me with details of the competition. "We're going to have a little playoff series of our own. Best of seven."  
  
I stared dumbly at him, blinking in incomprehension. "We're going to play one on one hockey?"  
  
"No, we're going to sleep with hockey players." Marco stated proudly.  
  
"Oh." I digested this briefly. "So the first person to sleep with four hockey players wins? But that's easy ..."  
  
Marco cut me off. "Nobody in our team counts."  
  
I thought for a moment. "That's still easy."  
  
"No Wings either." he grinned. That made it much more difficult. Obviously he'd put a lot of thought into it. "Oh, and Mike Comrie, Andy Ference and Bates Battaglia don't count either."  
  
"What about Jason Arnott?" I asked.  
  
He gave me a withering look. "That's a given, Patty."  
  
I paused, and sadly enough, seriously considered his idea. Furthermore, I came up with a suggestion. "How about, instead of disqualifying guys, we have a fixed list of seven guys and both of us has to agree that each one is a challenge."  
  
"Fabulous idea." Marco kissed me yet another time. I'm not quite sure why, but that time it made me smile back at him.  
  
I grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from the bedside table and started trying to think of tough challenges. Marco snatched the pen from me and scribbled a name down.  
  
"This is supposed to be tough, not impossible, Marco." I said, when I read the name. "Meaning, the player has to be gay, or at least bisexual."  
  
"He's gay!" he insisted.  
  
"No, he's not, he's French Canadian." I explained.  
  
"Oh." Marco considered things for a while, then scrawled another name. I nodded my approval and added a possibility that I'd come up with. He seemed fairly satisfied with my choice.  
  
So we came up with the rest of the list, fucked, then went to sleep.  
  
We both wanted to get a lot of rest for our game against the Canucks the next day, given that Markus Naslund was the first name on the list.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Well, after our crappy start to the season with a 6-3 loss to Detroit, we were hoping that things would get better in Vancouver. They didn't.  
  
It was pretty quiet in the locker room after the game. I decided to break the silence by complimenting Marco. "Nice ass goal."  
  
"Thanks." he responded, grinning broadly. He'd put in a game tying goal off his ass. Unfortunately, Trent Klatt and wonder twin power boys scored less than a minute later and we ended up losing 5-3. That's when I started to get a bad feeling about the season. Marco seemed not to share my sentiments, and continued somewhat cheerfully, "I have a talented ass."  
  
His declaration elicited half-dead laughter from the guys around us, and a weak smile from me. I decided to refrain from comment and started thinking about our little competition instead. I grinned as I thought about my secret advantage.  
  
What Marco didn't know at the time was that I'd already slept with Markus Naslund a few times in the past and he'd more or less said that we should do it again the next time we saw each other. The bad news was that the challenging part of sleeping with Markus wasn't to do with Markus himself, but that extremely volatile and insanely jealous juggernaut on skates known to the world at large as Todd Bertuzzi. Did I mention insanely jealous, with the emphasis on "insane"?  
  
Anyway, I lurked outside the Canucks locker room after the game, waiting for Markus to finish his interviews. Marco lurked about twenty feet away from me. In retrospect, we must have both looked really suspicious, but this didn't occur to us at the time.  
  
We were both sorely disappointed when Bertuzzi emerged from the locker room with Markus in tow.  Bertuzzi glared at me as he walked past and I wondered if Markus had said anything to him about me. Not that there would have been a lot to say. It's been a "hey kid, wanna fuck?" thing every time.  
  
Markus pretended not to notice me but winked at me as he walked past. I translated that as "call me later and I'll let you know when the coast is clear so you can come over to my place". Marco didn't see the wink and after the two of them left we shrugged at each other as if to say "oh well, we'll try again when they come to San Jose next week". Although my shrug really meant "I've got this one in the bag, sucker."  
  
As it turned out, my interpretation of Markus' wink was correct and he ended up calling me the next morning and told me to come over. Apparently Todd was out playing golf. I showed up at his place, planning to do a hit and run, but Markus tried to convince me to stay longer. Well, a lot longer. He was very persuasive. And stupidly, I stayed.  
  
In the middle of round four, the bedroom door was thrown open by a very angry, very surprised and very horribly dressed Todd Bertuzzi. There was a definite homicidal gleam in his eyes as he bellowed, "What the fuck?"  
  
If round four had been a little less noisy, we probably would have heard him come in, and I probably wouldn't have had to leap out of bed, hastily gather my belongings, dodge his punch, then kick him in the nuts and make my escape when he dropped to his knees in agony.  
  
Did you know that it's possible to dress while running? Even while going downstairs? It's a marvel of human coordination that comes naturally when under the threat of serious bodily harm.  
  
Just before I tore out the front door, I heard Todd screaming, "I thought you promised you weren't going to do this anymore! Jesus Christ, Markus, am I going to have to make you wear a fucking chastity belt?"  
  
*****  
  
Marco was watching TV when I returned to our hotel room. I walked over to him and announced cheerfully, "I fucked Markus Naslund!"  
  
"You did not." he frowned at me in disbelief.  
  
"Yes, I did!" I said smugly. "Four times one way and the other. But we got interrupted at the end."  
  
"Interrupted?" he asked, raising his eyebrow.  
  
"Bertuzzi." I shuddered at the memory while Marco shuddered at the thought.  
  
"How the fuck did you get him anyway?" he grumbled, annoyed that I'd won this round.  
  
"Trade secret." I leaned over to kiss him, and he pulled me down on top of him.  
  
"So that's what he tastes like." Marco commented, licking his lips. He tugged at my shirt, pulling it off over my head. "You were interrupted, you say?"  
  
"Yes, we were. I'm horribly traumatized now." I complained.  
  
"Let me see if I can make you feel better." he grinned, and he did.  
  
In hindsight, I probably should have been suspicious that he had such a mild reaction to finding out that I'd won the first round, but I was too busy being smug to notice. Later that night we talked about the next guy on the list and how it was good that we'd have three days to work on him. He was amazingly uncorrupted for someone in the Oilers. I mean, he hadn't even slept with Comrie yet. It was even more astonishing given how beautiful he is. I wondered if the guy had set bear traps around his bed.  
  
I lay in bed for a while, trying to think up strategies and approaches, but I was tired out by the day's activities and fell asleep before I came up with anything good. I had great dreams and I slept well that night, and woke up happy and refreshed the next morning.  
  
I led the series 1-0.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

I was given a rude awakening when Comrie kicked me in his sleep and I fell off the bed onto the floor with a loud thump. Marco rolled over to laugh at me weakly, then groaned and clutched his head. I grabbed Comrie's leg and gave it a hard tug, and he landed unceremoniously on the floor next to me, face down. Bastard didn't even wake up.  
  
I left him on the floor, snoring peacefully, as I climbed back onto the bed. My head seemed to be throbbing with two distinct beats that were going at a different rate. This left me not only in pain, but confused as well. I used my remaining strength to crawl over to Marco and lay down next to him, grumbling, "Why the fuck do we do this to ourselves?"  
  
"I'm not sure," he answered hoarsely. "I vaguely remember having fun last night, though."  
  
"I think I do too." I agreed. Only I thought it, instead of saying it out loud because it was too much effort to talk. I ended up kissing him instead. He tasted like whiskey, but I did too, so I don't think either of us minded.  
  
Marco closed his eyes and so did I, and I was just about to fall asleep again when Marco mumbled, "Why did we end up fucking Comrie instead of going after Brewer?"  
  
I swallowed and tried to gather enough strength to answer his question. Most of the effort was put into moving my leaden tongue to form the words. "Because Comrie's a whore?"  
  
"Oh. Right." he sighed. Marco had brought up a good point. We were both trying to get into bed with Eric Brewer, not Mike Comrie. He was my choice, and I was beginning to wonder if it was too much of a challenge. To tell the truth, all I'd been thinking at the time when I picked him was that he  was incredibly hot. Too bad he was also practically a virgin.  
  
"Fuck, we just blew a day." I muttered, as Marco draped his arm around me.  
  
"True, but Comrie gives such fantastic head." He grinned at the memory. I started chuckling. The guy did in fact have a talented mouth. I felt vaguely disturbed by something at this point, and with the benefit of hindsight, I realize that it was how unconcerned Marco seemed with the competition.  
  
We went back to sleep, woke up a few hours later sans hangovers, poked Comrie awake and we all fucked again.  
  
That was how Day One went. Day Two was considerably worse than Day One. Well, for me, anyway. We managed to get Comrie to introduce us to Brewer, and we all went out to dinner together, but he seemed to only be interested in talking to Marco. Fucker turned on his "sensitive man" persona and they were making goo goo eyes at each other by the end of the night. I'd pretty much conceded defeat by the time they took off together, mumbling something about going for a walk.  
  
I took Comrie back to my place and we fucked yet again. Actually, Day Two wasn't too bad.  
  
He was gone by the time I woke up the next morning. Marco looked nauseatingly happy at morning skate and I just knew he was dying to rub it in. I really didn't want to hear him gloat about how easily he'd won this round, but at the same time, I did want to hear details about his night with Brewer.  
  
I asked him over to my place for a pre-game fuck, and it took a little persuasion of the "grab his dick in such a way that even though he's got pants on I can get his foreskin to slide back" variety, but he  agreed to, even though he complained that Brewer had worn him out.  
  
"So what did you guys do? Did you teach him any of your tricks?" I asked as I took my clothes off.  
  
Marco shook his head as he dropped as his pants. "I'm not telling you shit."  
  
"Come on, I told you all about Naslund." I whined.  
  
"Let it drop, Patty ..." he said, pushing me forcefully onto the bed and climbing on top of me.  
  
I was about to pester him further, but I could see from the look on his face that he really didn't want to talk about it. I had other things at hand - so to speak - to distract me, so I rapidly lost the desire to ask about Brewer. It's probably a good thing that I didn't.  
  
*****  
  
"I tied it." Marco mumbled, licking my ear after we finished.  
  
"Good for you." I glared at him, punching him playfully in the stomach. "Asshole."  
  
He punched me back, then rolled on top of me, crushing me as I labored to breathe, and commented. "I haven't fucked a goalie in a while."  
  
"And what makes you think you're going to?" I grunted, irritated at his mostly unfounded confidence. "Unless you mean Miikka."  
  
Marco snickered, still refusing to budge. "I'm not fucking anybody not on the list from now on."  
  
"Really? Not even me?" I asked in a sweet voice, batting my eyes and trying to do the best Southern belle impression I could muster.  
  
"Oh, you don't count." Marco answered, insensitively. I was used to it, so I didn't even bother to frown at him when he finally rolled off me. Free of his oppressive weight, I happily breathed in lungfuls of sweet air.  
  
After I'd re-oxygenated myself sufficiently, I remarked, "Goalies can get into the most interesting positions."  
  
"Oh God, that reminds me of that one guy who could suck his own dick ... who was that?" Marco struggled to remember the goalie's name, and we launched into a lengthy and detailed discussion about our favourite goalie feats and positions. By the time Marco had finished relating his experience of being touched in that many places at the same time, we were more than ready to go again.  
  
We ended up winning the game that night 4-3. I assisted on Marco's (non-ass) goal, and Comrie scored a power play goal.  
  
I had the feeling that there would be a whole lot more scoring of a different kind just over the horizon.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

I pushed Marco off me gently so he wouldn't wake up and got out of bed, stretching slowly. Goalies were on my mind, as they had been just before I went to sleep the previous night. In fact, I'd had goalie dreams all night. Very nice goalie dreams fueled by the previous night's graphic discussion of the positions that they could assume, thanks to their flexibility. I was definitely becoming obsessed.  
  
I needed a goalie, and I needed one bad.  
  
Unfortunately, Nabby was holding out on us in more ways than one, and I didn't know if Miikka would be as accommodating as Nabby had been. I decided there was only one way to find out.  
  
I walked up to Miikka's door and was about to knock when I heard the sounds coming from within the room. Apparently he already had company. Disappointed, I was about to leave when I heard groaning in a foreign language, and more importantly, another voice groaning simultaneously in the same foreign language.  
  
I stopped. Miikka is Finnish. That meant that they were probably both speaking, or rather moaning, in Finnish. The other person couldn't have been Teemu because the poor guy is _still_ heartbroken over being separated from Kariya. That left only one other possibility on the team - Vesa Toskala, our backup goalie.  
  
Dear Lord, there were _two_ goalies in that room getting it on.  
  
I had to least _try_ to get in on that. I knocked on the door, expecting to be horribly bitched out.  
  
"Fuck off!" someone yelled. I thought it was Miikka.  
  
"It's Patty." I said, lamely, as if that meant anything.  
  
To my surprise, I heard someone shuffling to the door, and it opened to reveal a flushed, somewhat breathless Miikka Kiprusoff. He growled, "There'd better be a damn good reason for this, Patty."  
  
I gave him my reason and it turned out to be the right one, as far as they were concerned. It also turned out to be a fabulous week.  
  
On Friday, I ended up being the middle of a Finnish goalie sandwich.  
  
On Saturday, I introduced them to a copy of _Kama Sutra_ (with illustrations). Reading is fun.  
  
On Sunday, Vesa complimented me on my improved flexibility.  
  
On Monday, I put my improved flexibility to good use.  
  
On Tuesday, I started to think that Finnish was an incredibly sexy language.  
  
On Wednesday, Owen gave me an earful for wearing the goalies out. I discussed things in lurid detail with him and we ended up with an extra participant that day. Owen didn't bitch me out again after that.  
  
On Thursday, I stumbled out of Miikka and Vesa's room back into mine, and got into a minor argument of sorts with Marco.  
  
Okay, possibly Thursday wasn't that fabulous, but the rest of it was. And I didn't get into a fight with him right away. It happened after I'd settled comfortably into bed, tired as hell physically but still wide awake mentally. I decided to read a book instead of watching TV. I'd been reading the same book for two weeks. I hadn't been able to make much progress with it because of Marco 's apparent philosophy that reading was not, in fact, fun.  
  
I actually made it through a few pages and was just getting to the good part when Marco interrupted, somewhat predictably.  
  
"I'm horny." Marco declared expectantly, as he flopped onto my bed by side.  
  
"That's nice." I mumbled distractedly, trying to concentrate on reading my book.  
  
"Quit reading!" he snapped, snatching the book out of my hands.  
  
I glared at him and grabbed the book back from him, then shoved him off the bed and gave him some advice. "Go fuck one of the rookies or something and leave me alone!"  
  
"You haven't been much fun this week." Marco pouted at me.  
  
"That's because I've been busy _having_ fun." I said, not looking at him as I tried to find my page again.  
  
"Doing what? Reading your book?" Marco got up and sat on my bed again.  
  
"No, fucking our goalies." I muttered as I started reading again.  
  
"What?" He frowned at me. I couldn't believe he didn't know what I'd been doing. It's not as if we were keeping it a big secret. Even Thorty knew what was going on and the big lunkhead is usually clueless about everything unless it has to do with Sunny.  
  
"Marco, I'm really not in the mood. Go find someone else." I didn't look up from my book as he sighed and left the room.  
  
What an idiot I was.  
  
He came back hours later looking extremely smug and satisfied with himself, so I immediately knew something was horribly wrong. He gave me a disdainful look before flopping onto his bed and mumbling, "Guess who has a 2-1 lead now?"  
  
That got my full attention. I'd been so consumed by my fun with the flexible Finns that I had completely forgotten about our challenge. Losing that one really sucked, too. I'd picked Marc Denis because, well, I liked the guy. I didn't know him that well, but I knew he was quiet, somewhat shy, but with a good sense of humor. I'd figured that someone as loud as Marco would turn him off, but I guess I was wrong. I felt bad, and it wasn't just because I was behind in the series.  
  
"How the fuck did you get him in bed? Did you drug him or something?" The words came out sounding a lot more bitter than I thought they would.  
  
"I've been talking to him all week." Marco stripped, then got into his bed and turned onto his side, away from me. "While you were busy fucking Finns, we were getting to know each other. Good night, loser."  
  
I lay awake for awhile, feeling irritated, and just before I fell asleep, I vowed that I would be the first to fuck a Duck.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Have you ever been woken up by a punch in the gut?  
  
Neither had I, until Marco decided that it was the one experience sorely missing in my life.  
  
"Ungh ..." I grunted, through a haze of pain, forcing my eyes open and getting ready to defend myself from further attack.  
  
"Asshole!" he shouted, then tried to punch me again. I blocked him that time and tried to hit him back but he dodged out of the way and stormed out of our room, slamming the door loudly behind him.  
  
I would probably have gone after him to kick his ass except that the commotion had woken my bedmate up. He rubbed his eyes and blinked at me. "What the hell was that about?"  
  
Actually, it was about him.  
  
*****  
  
(Four hours earlier)  
  
I couldn't really do it, could I? I mean, Teemu was my friend, even more importantly, he was my _linemate_. We had to trust each other to be successful, and it's a little hard to trust somebody after they've fucked the love of your life. Furthermore, the act would violate what little ethics I had left.  
  
But then Paul took his shirt off and at the sight of his washboard abs, I thought "fuck ethics", and then I fucked him.  
  
*****  
  
(Seven hours earlier)  
  
"Hi, Paul!" I said loudly.  
  
Paul was striding towards Teemu's hotel room with freakish determination. He reminded me a bit of the new and improved terminator guy from "Terminator 2". Paul turned around mid-stride and responded unenthusiastically, "Oh, hi, Patrick."  
  
"Umm, you might not want to, uhh, go over to Teemu's room right now." I suggested uncomfortably, behaving as if I was hiding a huge secret. I was actually concealing something from him, so that made the task easier.  
  
"Why not?" He frowned at me in irritation.  
  
"He's not alone." I muttered.  
  
Paul shook his head at me in disbelief and continued to Teemu's room, muttering, "You're wrong."  
  
He stopped outside the door and raised his hand to ring the doorbell, but froze just before his finger reached the button. A look of horror appeared on his face as he put his ear to the door.  
  
I almost started giggling.  
  
Luckily, I was able to stifle my urge and walked over, trying to look as sympathetic as I possibly could. I put my arm around his shoulder and whispered to him, "I'm sorry, I tried to tell you."  
  
I subtly steered him away from Teemu's room down the hotel corridor (towards my room), and listened to him pour his heart out for a while. I actually don't remember a single thing he said, though. I was too busy watching his lips and the way they moved and imagining them doing other, more productive, things.  
  
*****  
  
(Eight hours earlier)  
  
"I can't keep up with you guys any longer, I'm taking off." I said, drying myself off with a towel and reaching for my clothes.  
  
"You can't go, Patty." Miikka whined.  
  
"You'll be missing out on more of this ..." Vesa said, then proceeded, with Miikka's assistance, to give me an excellent demonstration of what he was referring to.  
  
It took all the willpower I possessed, and then some, to get dressed and leave the room, the cries of the little vixens ringing torturously in my ears.  
  
Paul would be coming by soon, and everything would be ruined if I was still in the room when he came by, looking for Teemu to surprise him with a visit. That Duck dork Petr Sykora sure had a loose tongue when he was drunk. It was also a fairly talented tongue, but that's another story altogether.  
  
I passed Teemu in the hallway on the way back to my room. He was Miikka's assigned roommate and had kindly agreed to switch rooms for the sake of our insatiable goalies. I smiled cheerfully at him as I contemplated various positions I wanted to try with Paul.  
  
*****  
  
"I can't believe you fucked him!" Marco exploded at me.  
  
"Well, _you_ were the one who put him on the list. Doesn't that make you the despicable one or whatever?" I responded calmly, picking my book up from the bedside table. I'd made it through about three pages since we'd started the road trip. Five days before.  
  
"But you ..." he sputtered.  
  
I rolled my eyes at him and opened my book. I mumbled, "You're just irritated because I tied the series."  
  
Marco paced for a while (asshole), then continued berating me. "You have less morals than a guest on Jerry Springer!"  
  
I peered at him over my book and commented irrelevantly, "You know, we'd make great guests on Jerry Springer."  
  
"You tricked him into fucking you!" he accused.  
  
"And you've _never_ done anything like that before." I retorted, putting my book aside and glaring at him. I'd managed to read one sentence.  
  
Marco collapsed onto his bed, picked up his pillow and chucked it at me. I caught it easily and snickered when all he could do was glare at me. He was the king of swindling sex from people, whether he wanted to admit it or not. I knew from first-hand experience.  
  
I walked over to his bed, intending to return his pillow, and he grabbed my arm and pulled me down for a kiss that I resisted at first, but eventually gave in to. There really wasn't any point in staying angry at a guy who couldn't stay angry at you. That made a lot more sense in my head at the time than it does now.  
  
Thankfully, he quit bitching at me, we fucked, and fell asleep together in his bed.  
  
I woke up the next morning and wondered which one of us would break the tie by seeing Stars.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Our game against the Stars wasn't so much a hockey game as amateur boxing night on ice without gloves. Ever the exemplary leaders, Nolan and Hatcher started things off. Thorty, who had been spoiling for a fight ever since Downey had looked at Sunny wrong, energetically jumped into the fray. Of course, after that, pretty much everyone squared off.  
  
It was disgraceful.  
  
I couldn't believe the linesmen only let me get one punch on Jason Arnott before they stopped the fight. It didn't help that he lost his balance and fell over almost immediately. They should at least have let him stand up so we could have kept going for a while.  
  
I vaguely recall that they won the game, not that it was important to me at the time. The only thing on my mind was that I had to fuck Brenden Morrow before Marco could get his dirty hands (and other body parts) on him.  
  
Arnott waylaid me as I was leaving the building after the game. Apparently, he wasn't satisfied with the result of our fight and claimed he wanted to "pound me into submission". I soon found out when he pinned me against the wall that he meant something fairly different from what I'd initially thought.  
  
First I had to decline my Finnish goalies, then I had to resist Jason Arnott. I was being tried and tested at every turn. The satisfaction of seeing the look on Marco's face when I gained the lead was the only thing that gave me enough strength to keep going.  
  
I pushed him away (eventually) and told him that I had a prior appointment, then referred him to Marco. I told him all about Marco's extensive repertoire of feats and techniques. Being intimately familiar with them myself, I was able to sell the idea fairly well and he headed off, grinning stupidly.  
  
I breathed a sigh of relief at having narrowly averted disaster, then turned my attention back to figuring out how to bag Morrow. The challenge with him was that, despite having fucked at least a dozen guys that I knew of, he didn't believe he was gay. He was, in fact, so firmly convinced of his heterosexuality that he'd gotten married to someone who apparently shared his delusion.  
  
One of the keys to getting him in bed was to cram as much booze into him as humanly possible while leaving him still able to function. The real trick, though, was to not let him realize that he was having sex with a guy. Or at least give him plausible deniability.  
  
That doesn't imply that I put on makeup and fake boobs. You just had to keep him happy enough to distract him from figuring out his situation. The alcohol definitely helped with that aspect of it. He was also particularly receptive to flawed logic along the lines of "if you jump and down after sex you won't get pregnant", as long as you sounded half-convincing.  
  
For example, when he noticed half-way through our session that I had some unexpected equipment, I pointed out that he did too. Yes, I realize that makes no sense. He didn't.  
  
As you've probably gathered, I did in fact succeed in getting to Morrow before Marco did. It helped that I'd unleashed Jason Arnott upon him to stall him and buy myself some precious time to corner Morrow and persuade him to have some drinks with me.  
  
It didn't help that Marco didn't end up fucking Arnott.  
  
"I'm going to fucking kill you!" Marco pounced on me as soon as I returned to our hotel room, fresh from fucking Morrow. I'd barely announced my victory before he shoved me roughly onto my bed, landing hard on top of me.  
  
I grinned at him, not particularly minding being pinned down by his weight even though I had quite some difficulty breathing. He was such a sore loser. "Hey, at least you had some fun with Arnott, even if you are down by one in the series now."  
  
"I told Arnott to fuck off." Marco growled at me, and I started to feel a vague sense of disquiet. I could understand him being pissed off at losing to me, but why hadn't he screwed Arnott?  
  
"You turned down sex with Jason Arnott? What the fuck is wrong with you?" I was completely mystified. I mean, it was Jason Arnott, for Christ's sake.  
  
He looked like he was about to say something, changed his mind, was about to say something else, then changed his mind again, and finally ended up answering, very quietly, "Nothing."  
  
"Right, you're perfectly normal." He lowered his head to kiss me, which was pleasant enough, but his weight was starting to crush me. "Now get off me."  
  
"No." Marco refused, pressing his lips harder against me. I struggled under him, trying to push him off, but I was rapidly running out of oxygen. Desperate times called for desperate measures.  
  
I tickled him.  
  
Marco shrieked and jerked away from me, protecting himself from my expert fingers. He retreated to the safety of his bed and scowled at me. "Bastard."  
  
"Loser." I retorted. I snickered at him and turned the bedside table lamp on, then grabbed my book and started reading. I went through ten pages before I realized how strange it felt to actually have read that much in one stretch. I peered over at Marco and was surprised to find him fast asleep. It surprised me even more that it bothered me that I'd been left in peace to read my book. I finished the chapter and decided I'd reached a good break point.  
  
Just before I went to sleep, I thought about our competition again, and I hoped that the next goaltender we faced wouldn't be able to keep his legs together.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

I was doing so well, really I was. We were in the middle of a really hot kiss, the kind that hints at a long, tiring night, a wonderfully restful sleep, followed by a long, tiring morning. Unfortunately, the moment I felt Thibault really get into it, he tensed up and pushed me away.  
  
"What's wrong?" I asked, trying my best to sound concerned. I suppose I was concerned, but not about him, about winning the competition. I had the chance to beat Marco with one more win and I was so close to doing it. He knew it too. He'd pretty much stopped talking to me altogether unless it was absolutely necessary and even then he was grumpy and curt.  
  
I'd even gotten through another eight chapters of my book. It had been peaceful and quiet in our room ever since the night I fucked Morrow. At first I loved it. Marco was always yapping about something or the other, and for the first time I could just do my own thing when we got back to our room. After a couple of days, I realized that doing my own thing consisted wholly of reading my book, which got to be boring after a while, even though it was a great book.  
  
As much as I hated to admit it, I kind of missed the annoying German firebrand.  
  
Anyway, back to Thibault. I knew that my hopes of putting the series away were gone when I saw the guilt-ridden expression on his face. I cursed myself silently for not getting him drunk first. I'd been able to tell soon after we started talking that he was pretty eager to fuck me so I decided to go with speed rather than thoroughness.  
  
"I'm sorry ... I can't ..." he said frantically. I could see the beginnings of hysteria blossoming in his eyes. "I can't do this ... I'm sorry Patrick ..."  
  
I should have suspected it. He was a little _too_ eager. I nodded understandingly and assured him that everything was okay, then left the room to give him some privacy. Or rather, I stood outside and listened at the door.  
  
Thibault started rambling in French. I can speak French just about well enough that French-speaking people realize I'm trying to speak French. Then they hit me over the head for speaking it so badly. Fortunately, I was able to figure out of the gist of what he said. He was apologizing shrilly, probably over the phone unless he had some imaginary friends in the room.  
  
I soon gathered that the recipient of the apologies was Jose Theodore. I started to imagine the two of them together, but I realized after a moment that I wasn't able to concentrate on the conversation, or anything else, for that matter. I managed to figure out that Thibault was angry at Theodore for cheating on him and was trying to get back at him. So _that_ explained his willingness. Normally he'd be as tough to get as Brewer.  
  
I didn't even know he was seeing anyone at the time. That made him even more of a challenge, unfortunately. Who the hell feels guilty about a _kiss_ , anyway? Couldn't he have felt remorse _after_ we'd fucked?  
  
I heard some happy sniffling and some proclamations of undying love, or possibly some heartfelt complaints about room service. My translation skills were failing me at that point. In any case, I decided that it would be best if I tried again later.  
  
I went home and got into bed and tried to read my book again but I kept getting distracted. That was another problem with not having Marco around. I actually had the inclination and the opportunity to think. I got annoyed at Thibault and his silly notions of faithfulness that were causing him unnecessary angst and more importantly, depriving me of goalie sex and a win. I wanted the contest to be over and done with. It was having a stronger effect on Marco than anything I'd ever seen before. I'd seen his mean streak when he'd been consumed by competition before, but that was ... different.  
  
Of course, I could have just thrown the contest and not tried to fuck anyone, but that wouldn't have been any fun, would it?  
  
I boggled at the sheer idiocy of Thibault for a while. Surely he didn't think that his relationship, or whatever he had with Theodore, was worth giving up sex. I mean, sex with other people. Maybe it was a French Canadian thing. I went to sleep plotting my next move.  
   
My efforts were in vain, however, because Marco got to him first. Damn him and his stupid "sensitive man" persona. Or maybe it was my own fault for not trying to develop one of my own. Partly he was just lucky that Thibault and Theodore had just had a fight when he tried to make his move, and he was there to "comfort" him. Bastard.  
  
I expected heavy gloating from Marco but all he did was tell me he fucked Thibault. That was all he said, then he went back to being infuriatingly quiet. I definitely wasn't looking forward to having to room with him and put up with the silent treatment for a week and a half.  
  
As it turns out, I needn't have worried. I spent every night of the road trip with our Finnish goalies (and occasionally some special guests) so I didn't have to deal with Marco's sulking. The closest I got to reading was listening to them read out loud from their newly purchased Finnish version of Kama Sutra.  
  
I couldn't wait for the last stop of our road trip, not because I was anxious to get home, but because that's where we'd both get the chance to win the series. I had never been so excited to go to Denver in my life.  
  
And of course, that's where things got _really_ fucked up.  
  



	8. Chapter 8

The end of the series was woefully anticlimatic. I was out of the running before the plane touched down in Denver. Of all the injuries to get, I strained my groin the game before we played the Avs. That pretty much effectively eliminated me from the competition, and Marco emerged triumphant with a hungover, slightly confused, but quite gratified Dan Hinote left in his wake.  
  
It was a disturbingly low-key victory, however. He didn't do his strange German impression of a touchdown victory dance, didn't try to bring up it up and gloat as often as possible - in fact he never brought it up - and most worrisome of all, he didn't have that cocky "I'm the man" glow to him. If anything, he seemed less happy, and I suspected (and later confirmed) that he was avoiding me, given that I seemed to never see him anywhere except in our hotel room. Even then, he'd just come back late and go straight to sleep.  
  
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. Marco had just come in, stripped and gotten into bed, barely muttering a "hi" to me. I tossed my book (which I was almost done with by that time) and asked him, "Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?"  
  
"Nothing." he mumbled in response. "Leave me alone, I'm trying to go to sleep."  
  
"Fuck sleep." I got out of bed and went to sit on the side of his bed, only I didn't realize that his leg was there and sat heavily on it.  
  
"Ow! You asshole! I _said_ , I'm trying to _sleep!_ " He punched my arm hard enough to leave a pretty bruise but I refused to budge. "Get _off_ me, Patty!"  
  
I tried to figure out how to express my concern without sounding like an idiot. "We haven't fucked in two weeks."   
  
"What, are you horny now? Go fuck our goalies and get the fuck off me." He gave me a shove, but it wasn't hard enough to push me off him.  
  
"No!" I leaned over to kiss him hard. "What the hell is the problem? Is it the contest? You won.You should be ecstatic, not moody."  
  
"It's a German thing." he grunted, which is what he always says when he wants me to leave him alone. Usually I'd just let him brood for a while, but not that time. He'd been brooding long enough already.  
  
"What is it?" I asked, and I kissed him again, this time lightly on his lips. He recoiled from me, doing wonders for my ego. "Marco ..."  
  
He looked incredibly conflicted. I shifted to a legless part of the bed and let him wrestle with himself (mentally) for a while. Finally he told me what was wrong. He went on and on for what seemed like an eternity, and when he was done, I didn't say anything in response. I got off him, got back into my own bed, went to sleep and didn't talk to him for a week.  
  
*****  
  
Our silent feud wasn't exactly doing wonders for our line's chemistry, so Teemu, well ... Teemu locked us in a room in his house (with the help of some of our other disgruntled teammates) after a barbecue we had at his place and refused to let us out until we talked to each other. We glared at each other in stony silence, each unwilling to be the first to speak. Finally I cracked because I really _really_ needed to pee.  
  
"I can't believe you cheated and you let me think you'd won the contest." I muttered, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. "I also can't believe that you didn't fuck Brewer."  
  
"I said I was sorry." Marco frowned at me, then continued. "You know what, I should have never told you what happened. Then you wouldn't be pissed at me and things would be fine."  
  
"Would they? What about the rest of the stuff you said?" I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out if what he told me would be the truth.  
  
"What the fuck does it matter?" he shouted, then I saw the anger in his face melt away, and it was replaced by an expression that was almost wistful. "You obviously don't feel that way anymore."  
  
I took a deep breath. I thought he was trying to trick me, just like he tricked everyone, just like he'd tricked me that first time. Could I really have been so naive back then? Did Marco really mean it when he said that Brewer reminded him of me when he first met me?  
  
"Yeah, that's what I thought." Marco said, responding to my silence. Then he sighed deeply and apologized to me for what he'd done.  
  
"There's nothing to be sorry for. You were absolutely right. Romance and love and all that - it's all a bunch of bullshit." I shut my eyes. Painful memories were starting to surface, and I was getting desperate enough to break the door down if it meant that I could get to a bathroom soon. "It has to be."  
  
"What if ..." Marco stepped closer to me, his face so near to mine that I could hear him breathe. "What if it isn't bullshit?"  
  
"What the fuck do you mean?" I asked, wanting desperately to back away from him, but somehow unable to uproot myself from the floor.  
  
"I mean, what if all that stuff Brewer believes in, that one person to care about, who cares about you - what if it's not bullshit?" he answered. "What if I couldn't fuck him because I remembered that's what you were like, and I couldn't ruin him like I ruined you?"  
  
"Oh, I'm ruined? Thank you so ..." I started, but Marco cut me off before I could finish my sentence.  
  
"What if with you, I told you those things because I was scared, because I didn't want to believe them, because I'd been hurt and I didn't want to be hurt again, and I thought I was protecting myself?" Marco's voice, desperate and insistent at first, dropped to a whisper as he finished his question.  
  
Why did he have to say it? His words had been bothering me all week and I'd been successful at keeping them at bay if I really tried, but he had to go and repeat them, which meant that I had to deal with their implications.  
  
I had no idea what to say to him, so I just wrapped my arms around him and kissed him. A real kiss. Not the kind of kiss we always shared, the type that led to sex. It was the kind of kiss that led to something I'd wanted a long time ago, but had learned to accept was unrealistic and unattainable, thanks to the way Marco treated me.  
  
He smiled at me when we ended our kiss and I yelled at Teemu to let us out, then promptly ran him over when he opened the door in my mad dash to the bathroom.  
  
*****  
  
Could I really forget everything I'd learned from him? Change my lifestyle? For that matter, could he? Did I still want what I wanted back then, when I was young and idealistic? Marco had told me how he felt. Had I figured out how I felt?  
  
I decided that it was time for another contest and outlined the details briefly for Marco. He liked the idea and readily agreed to it. There was no time limit and the rules were simple. The one who slept with anybody aside from each other would lose.  
  
Last I checked, both of us were still winning.


End file.
